ACHIEVING RELATIVE STILLNESS Now I’m already very slow but my doctor urges me to slow down more. Change your self-perception: you’re not tuna. I used to run to catch the early subway now I jog but I still can’t walk normally let alone stroll. If I were in water it would be different: less resistance. So is it just because of the air? No. Hostility, attachment. So the idea that water has less resistance is an excuse. I’m neither tuna nor cuttlefish. Pamuk said: “My Name is R

There is no sorrow in the cage, no grievance against the hunter, let that cruel one never forget its own captive, never. I held back my sighs and cries through all this separation, so that my complaint would not show through my lamentation, never. Let the cage be torn open with the blood of spring’s blooming, give the prisoners the good news of freedom, hold it back never. The painter of creation fashioned the beloved’s image so precisely that neither Mani nor Behzad ac

The door: unique, austere, never once failing to inspire awe. Known as the wonder of Emmanuel the Iraqi, a man consumed with a passion for precision. He oiled the door and reinforced its frame, carefully sanding it until every detail gleamed. Emmanuel had chosen his daughter’s favorite type of wood, certain she would appreciate it, and perhaps even be moved by the pride he poured into his craft. He whispered his daughter’s passion to the door – her love of the oak trees from

MINNEAPOLIS, MN mid-american rain. wet cubes of space. the city stands accurate, careless, clean. a naive and practical gigantomania. i feel younger, fresher, washed. why is everything here so much more clear? a sharp siren resounds. stone shines – this otherness here is more dear to me than the other i’ve left behind. red, green, and gray. yellow buses quietly slide through rain. i also feel older here, a scoundrel winnowed by life. an eastern eu- ropean. covered by hist

Everywhere, perfect cordiality – too much sometimes, a series of smiles, bows, FUCK! CROW! Once more I feel the devastating breath go up go up, grabbing what it can within, it can the tiger! By the lake the yellow irises play swords with the hot wind, it stinks, outside and inside. You laughed at the Mute, the Mute’s return. The cast-iron bell, born in cotton, remained cotton. They asked me, “Do you have an image that weighs on you?” What to tell them? THIS? – No. I need rest

Where is the heart untempered by despair, Whose strands, unlike his dark hair, never entwine? The world has wearied mine with cruelty and spite, For only union with my friend can set it right. I find contentment in a greeting or a glance, Yet cry at love’s injustice and its dire expanse. Though all admire the crescent of the feast, It bends not like my lover’s brow, nor shines at least. O morning breeze, pass gently by his side, And say that grief alone is now my guide. And i